Aftermath
by Dark Puck
Summary: Bookverse collaboration Morgancentric. When two Wardens disappear in the jungles of Uganda, Morgan volunteers to find them... and doesn't return for six months. A tale of what followed his return. Warning: MorganOC established relationship.


Uganda was far too humid for Harry Dresden's liking, though this seemed to be one of the two dry seasons. Being asked to train baby Wardens in New Mexico was one thing. Being asked to retrieve three missing Wardens – one of whom was Morgan – was another. But Luccio had asked him, and dammit, he'd seen how Jen was taking the older Warden's absence, so he had agreed.

Goddamned tombstone.

He glared out at the rain pouring down from the sky. Yeah. Dry season. Right.

He shifted his gaze to the jungle he would be heading into the next day, and paused, watching two men emerge from the trees. Harry paused, looked harder, then snatched a pair of binoculars from a nearby apprentice and looked a third time.

The two men were filthy and underweight, and the smaller was all but being carried by the bigger, who held a huge sword in one hand.

_Morgan_.

Harry took off like the proverbial lubricated electrical discharge, and made a beeline for the edge of the jungle. Now that he could get a good look at Morgan, it looked like the man had been to hell and back, and then gone back in again because he forgot his wallet.

His Warden's cloak was nowhere in evidence and his fatigues were bloody, streaked with grime and maybe gore, and torn to shreds. His long hair was braided, most likely to make it harder for flora and fauna to catch hold, and as filthy as the remains of his clothes. One strong arm was wrapped around the other Warden's middle, keeping the semi-conscious kid upright; one of the kid's own arms was flung limply over Morgan's shoulders.

The kid himself – Shamus McConnehy, that was his name, he'd only recently earned his cloak – was in far worse shape than Morgan. He wore only tattered pants and his torso was covered in scars and half-healed wounds; one leg trailed behind him and his free arm hung at an odd angle. The rain plastered his sandy hair to his head and made tracks in the grime on his face and body; Harry could only hope it had also washed out whatever infections might have got in the injuries.

However, it was Morgan's eyes that struck him the most – the fear and the desperation in them chilled Harry to the bone, almost as much as the relief that crossed Morgan's face as he recognised him.

"Morgan, what the hell happe-"

The older man cut him off by dropping his sword and scooping Shamus into a two-armed hold. He pushed the kid into Harry's arms, saying, "Get him to safety. **_Now._**" His tone left no room for argument, and his face contended that, glad as he was to see Harry (as if that in and of itself wasn't an indication of the upcoming apocalypse...), if he quibbled, Morgan might very well cut him down.

Harry did not need to be told twice. He bolted back to the building and started screaming at people to get things done. Behind him, Morgan collapsed.

When he was called away to India, Donald Morgan promised his lover that he would be back in two weeks at the most.

While he was in India, Jennifer Tarleton got a phone call saying that two Wardens had gone missing in the jungles along the Uganda-Congo border and that Morgan would be going to look for them; hopefully he would return within the month.

The month passed, and no word. Jen got worried, and angry.

Two months, still no word. Jen got angrier.

Three, four months, and a young man in a brown cloak turned up at her door, asking if she'd heard from him. The anger vanished, to be replaced by the beginnings of fear.

Five months, and Dresden came by, asking the same question. Dresden, unlike the apprentice of the previous month, stayed for awhile to reassure her. It didn't work.

Six months in, and finally the phone rang. A woman named Anastasia Luccio told her that Morgan had returned from Africa with one of the missing Wardens and was currently undergoing treatment for exhaustion, dehydration, starvation, and injuries incurred while in the jungle. She would give no further details, save to say that Dresden, who had been called to Africa as well, had found them.

Fear turned to relief, and relief turned quickly to anger.

Seven months after he had first left, Morgan knocked on Jen's door, looking tired and haunted.

She hadn't been expecting him for at least another week, though she'd been hoping. That may have been the reason for the breathless scream. Jen felt absolutely no need to justify the hug, though, or the shrill demand, "Are you all right?"

"Jennifer," he said softly, "I need to breathe." However, his arms had closed around her the minute she was in range and he was crushing her against him with equal force.

"No, you don't," she retorted, from where she'd pressed her face into his chest. "You're thin." Her voice rose at the end of the statement, turning it into a cautious question.

"Too dangerous. Couldn't leave Shamus to hunt."

A conundrum, there. He needed to be fed, but she'd have to let go of him in order to do it. "Come inside," she said, instead. "Shamus is another Warden?"

"Not anymore," he said. She could hear heavy regret in his voice as he mostly released her. He did, however, keep an arm around her, almost as if he was afraid to let go entirely. "He asked to be discharged. It was the only thing he would say."

Jen thought she might have cried if he'd let her go entirely. "I'm sorry for him," she said, and then, softly, "Are you all right? You didn't... they didn't say." All the fear and worry of the past months built up in her throat and spilled out in her voice, no matter how hard she tried to keep it back.

Morgan was silent for a long moment. Too long. "I'll recover," he said at last. "Shamus... may be damaged beyond repair."

She moved forward and put her arms back around him, kicking the front door shut as she did. "I'm sorry," she said again, knowing how useless it was, and wishing there was something she could _actually_ do.

Rather than reply verbally, Morgan chose instead to kiss her, pulling her against him again. It was a desperate, hungry kiss; the kiss of a man who hadn't known if he would ever see the one he loved again.

There, at least, Jen had some experience, and she did the best she could to reassure him that she at least was still there and unhurt, and not about to go anywhere.

It really was no surprise that they went from the front door to the bedroom; what was more of a surprise was that for so hungry a man, Morgan took his time, kissing and caressing her and driving both of them crazy. When at last they lay sated, he put his arms around her and drifted into a peaceful sleep that swiftly became a nightmare.

Jen woke in the middle of the night when her lover, who usually slept like a rock, began to stir and murmur beside her. She touched his hand and realized he was cold, much too cold. The fear revived itself in the pit of her stomach, and she shook him, said his name.

He sat bolt upright, his eyes wide enough that the whites could be seen all the way around. At least he didn't yell – that, more than anything else, would have frightened her beyond reason. He stared blankly at the wall for a moment, then sighed and fell back in bed, all the tension draining from his muscles.

She swallowed down the fear since he was obviously coming out of whatever dream he'd been having. "A nightmare?" she ventured, after a moment.

Another long minute of silence, as though he was debating whether or not to admit the truth to her or not. At last, however, he nodded and said, "Aye." There was a certain heaviness to his voice, as well as a thicker version of the British accent that barely touched his words at normal times.

Jen scooted a bit closer and touched his shoulder, tentatively. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shuddered and shook his head, drawing her closer to him and burying his face against the junction of her neck and shoulder. His shoulders began to shake. She panicked, and for once in her life cursed not listening to her mother. If she had, she'd know what to do for him, how to help him. Jen locked her arms around him and kissed his hair. "It's all right," she said, voice trembling a little. "It's over."

"I know, Jennifer," he said at last. He didn't release his tight hold on her. "I know."

He might have known, but Jen had the shrewd feeling it didn't help any. "How long have you had these?" she asked, softly, shifting her hands a little lower on his back.

"Since we got back," he admitted quietly, proving that the fuel for the nightmares were indeed those six months he had spent in Africa. "I thought..." His voice trailed off into silence.

"You thought?" she prompted, after a moment. He might not want to talk about it (and she would respect that, and not ask about those new scars she'd seen), but she could at least give him the opportunity.

"I thought they might stop." He moved his face from her neck at last, but his hold on her didn't loosen.

She shook her head. "Trauma's usually a bit more persistent than that." A beat, and then she asked, a faint hint of exasperation creeping into her voice, "Did you tell anyone about them?"

He shook his head. "Shamus needs the help more."

Jen narrowly avoided snorting. Instead, she shook her head again, and kissed his forehead. "My love, you are far too self-sacrificing." Her voice faltered then, a bit. "I don't... I don't know how to help you."

"Just hold me," he whispered.

That she could do, and gladly. "Yes," she said, and held him as tightly as she could.

Eventually he drifted back into sleep, but throughout the rest of the night, he did not release her.

Harry hadn't been entirely surprised to receive a phone call from Morgan indicating that the two of them needed to talk immediately, given the older man's physical and mental condition on emerging from the jungle. On arriving at Mac's at five, he _was_ surprised to find that the other Warden was already there. He was still underweight, but he looked a lot healthier than he had three weeks beforehand.

Harry nodded in greeting, unsure of anything else which would sound appropriate. He ordered a beer, and eyed the warden cautiously. "You wanted to see me?" he asked, his tone neutral.

"Yes," Morgan said shortly. He was all business now, but there was still a tone to his words... of dread? Of anger? It was hard to tell. And his face... he looked tired. "Take a seat." He _sounded_ tired.

Harry did, saying nothing. The man would speak when he was ready to get it out. The fact that he was being civil to Harry had him worried already.

After a few moments of silence, Morgan said, "They've interdicted that jungle. No one is to ever set foot in it again." He shuddered.

Harry's eyebrows went up as he sipped his beer. "Interdicted? Christ, what is _in_ there, Morgan? What did you see?"

The Warden took a deep breath. "There are... _things _in that jungle, Dresden. Things that shrug off magic easier than an ogre, that could possibly go toe-to-toe with an Outsider and survive."

Harry's eyes widened, but he said nothing. What _could_ be said? What kind of _things_ were there that could do these things?

Several moments passed in silence. Harry broke it by flagging Mac down. "One for the Warden," he said, "on my tab."

Morgan nodded thanks to him – another sign of the imminent end times – and drained half the beer in a single go, as if he was desperate to put alcohol between him and whatever lurked in his memory. "There was a lake creature, the mokele-mbembe that... is not over-fond of intruders. But the animals... the animals are nothing compared to the sentients," he said at last. Another long pause, and he finished his beer. "Let the Red Court try it," he spat without warning. "Let it kill them like it did Schuster."

Harry felt an inward twinge of pain upon hearing the name of the Warden who had died. "Here's hoping," Harry muttered, raising his bottle in salute before taking a deep swig.

Another moment of silence, then Morgan pierced him with haunted grey eyes. "The only blessing in all this is that they seem to have no desire to leave the jungle. But if they do... all we can hope is that they leave us be. They can be killed... but at a high cost."

Harry gave an involuntary shudder. "Maybe we can nuke the site from orbit," Harry mumbled, knowing full well that the reference would be lost on the older Warden.

And it was, earning him a half-hearted glare. "Not quite _that_ high."

Harry chuckled a bit at this, but didn't follow up. Morgan shook his head and stood. "Keep an ear open, Dresden," he said quietly. "And watch your back."

"Always," he said. "And you yours. Take a vacation or something. I hear Acapulco is nice this time of year."

Morgan smiled slightly – seriously, Armageddon had better start moving or it would be late to the end of the world – and quit the pub without another word. Harry blinked several times, pinched himself on the arm (it's the only way to be sure), and finished his beer.

* * *

_Thanks to Rosethorn and GG Crono for their aid with Harry Dresden and Jennifer Tarleton. Harry and Morgan are both (c) to Jim Butcher; Jen belongs to Rosethorn and Shamus to me.  
_


End file.
